Cravings
by mustlovecat
Summary: DL One shot. Lindsay experiences yet another aspect of pregnancy  cravings!


**A/N **I'll be happy once the new season arrives and there is actual D/L on my screen. But until then, I guess I'll have to keep indulging my imagination sigh This takes place a few weeks after WWIII.

**Disclaimer** I own nothing. I'm just borrowing. I promise to put everything back in the condition in which it was found. Well, maybe not _exactly_ …

"That yours or mine," Lindsay groaned as the shrill ringing of a cell phone pierced through the dark silence of their bedroom.

"Yours. Not … on call," Danny replied, or more accurately grunted, still half-asleep.

She felt blindly along the bedside table until she felt the offending object and picked it up, flipping it open on its way to her ear. "Monroe. Uh, Messer. Whatever."

Stella fought back a chuckle on the opposite end of the line. "Sorry to call so early, Linds. I know you're not on until nine, but we got a homicide in the lower east side –"

Opening her eyes, Lindsay sighed. "No problem, Stel. Lower east side. Homicide. Give me thirty minutes. Uh, can you just text the address?"

"You got it kiddo. See you soon."

Lindsay hung up her phone and set it back on the table. She sighed, then forced herself to get up and head into the bathroom to get ready, grabbing some clothes en route.

Despite the fact that he had the day off, Danny rolled himself out of bed a couple of minutes later and headed into the kitchen to make some tea and fix an omelette for his wife. He knew she would just rush out otherwise and he had promised that he would keep his mouth shut about her keeping up her usual pace as long as she took care to eat regularly and sleep when she could.

Fifteen minutes later, he was flipping her omelette onto a plate when Lindsay emerged, her appearance giving no indication that it was only four o'clock in the morning. Of course, he was biased. As far as he was concerned, whoever said that pregnant women glowed had been speaking of his wife. She had really only started showing a few days before, exhibiting little more than a small bump. However, her breasts had swelled considerably, and he was certainly enjoying all of her new curves. "You gotta eat, Montana," he reminded her.

She wrinkled her nose. "What'd you put in that?"

"The usual."

"Onions, feta and olives?"

He nodded.

"Well, one of your kids has suddenly developed a dislike for … uh, definitely the olives."

"Oh." He turned and set it on the counter behind him, trying to reconsider what he could fix quickly for her instead. "Uh, how 'bout –"

"We have any jalapenos? And maple syrup?"

"Huh?"

"I want some jalapenos smothered in syrup."

"That's disgusting, Montana."

She narrowed her eyes.

"But let me see what I can do because I apparently have no concept of acceptable food combinations." He walked over to the fridge, rolling his eyes.

A moment later, Danny was shutting the fridge door and looking at his wife apologetically. "No jalapenos. How 'bout some toaster waffles? They're pretty damn good smothered in syrup."

"We really don't have any jalapeno peppers? I could've sworn … Well, it doesn't matter. I have to go. I'm already going to be late."

"It's okay. Look, uh, here, take a yogurt for the trip there." He handed her the single serving cup with a kiss to the temple.

"Thanks for trying."

"Anything for you, babe. Have a good shift, okay?" He kissed her quickly on the lips and saw her off.

After he watched her step onto the elevator and the doors closed, he shut their own front door and locked it, leaning back against it with a sigh. He promised God he would never lie to his wife again. "I swear, I'll go to church every Sunday. But I – Jalapenos and syrup? C'mon, that's just wrong."

He quickly realized there was a way to redeem himself – _and _save himself from the torture of having to watch her eat it. He walked over and picked up the cordless phone, dialling the number from memory.

"Detective Flack."

"Yeah, it's Messer. You on the DB in the lower east side?"

"It's an early Saturday morning in the city, Dan. Who else would it be?" Don replied dryly.

"Lindsay's on her way. I need a favour."

Fifteen minutes later, Lindsay arrived on the scene. She found Stella hunched over the homicide victim, snapping photographs as they awaited the arrival of the M.E.

"Hey, Stel. Sorry I'm late," Lindsay apologised.

"That's okay. How're you doing?"

"I'm fine, thanks. So, what do we have?"

"Elizabeth Lipton, twenty-one," Stella explained. "Student at NYU. Works at a club just down the street, finished her shift at 2am. Probably on her way home when this happened."

Lindsay and Stella both looked at the victim for a moment, both lamenting the tragedy of her death.

"I hate these cases," Lindsay sighed. "She's just starting out, has her whole life in front of her. Probably had no idea what it was all about."

"Pointless," Stella agreed.

Unconsciously, Lindsay's hand moved across her stomach, a silent promise to protect her children the best that she could. "Who's lead on this?" she asked then.

"Flack. He _was _around here somewhere, but he seemed to disappear not too long ago. Must be following a lead."

"No, just running an errand," Don announced, ducking under the crime scene tape and approaching the two, a paper bag in his hands from the nearby twenty-four hour market. "Here ya go, Linds."

She raised her eyebrows as she accepted the bag. "What this?"

"Consider it an early Christmas present."

"It's March, Flack."

"A _belated_ Christmas present? Look, I'm just the messenger, so –"

Lindsay shrieked with delight as she pulled the contents out of the bag – a small jar of oil-packed jalapeno peppers and a bottle of Aunt Jemima Original. "You are _the _best." She threw one arm around his neck, startling him a little with the hug.

"What's going on?" Stella asked.

"I have been having _the _most intense craving for jalapenos and syrup," the younger CSI explained.

Stella groaned. "Okay, sweetie, that's – Well, it's more disgusting than a crime scene."

Lindsay waved her off. "If you'll just excuse me for two minutes, I'm just going to go eat my breakfast." She stood up on her tip-toes, kissing Flack's cheek. "You're my hero."

He smirked at Stella, who just rolled her eyes.

Lindsay turned to go, but stopped before she hit the tape cordoning off the area. Over her shoulder, she called, "Oh, and Don? Quit staring at my boobs."


End file.
